I'm crying so hard when I leave my dressing room that I think I'm going to be sick.
In order to get on that stage and do what I had to do, I had had three beers. There were two more waiting for me in my dressing room and I finished those off in less than fifteen minutes. The alcohol that had kept my body and mind blissfully numb is now staring to roll around in my stomach, threatening to evacuate itself on the sidewalk.
I wonder what Hart would think if he saw me now.
I did this for you, baby, I say silently to him. I did this for us and for our son and for the land you love so much.
My knees are still knocking as I make my way to my car.
I'm shaking so badly that I drop my keys.
Wiping away the tears that are nearly blinding me, I stoop to pick them up.
Just then, I hear a voice say, softly, "Cassie."
Horrified, I stand up. No one I know should be here. No one can ever find out what I did tonight.
But, sure enough, standing right in front of me in the parking lot, is Danny Santos.
He's regarding me with a weird look in his eyes and it takes a moment for the look to register.
It's pity.
"Don't," I snap at him as I unlock my car. "Just...just forget you saw me here."
I don't even ask what he's doing here. Certainly, it's not for the show. I saw the way both he and Michelle were when we were in San Cristobal. He's clearly a man besotted with his wife and Michelle...Michelle was luminous any time she was in his presence.
I wonder if I glowed like that when I was with Hart.
I wonder if I glow like that when I'm with Richard.
No, Danny wasn't here for the strippers.
"Cassie," he says again, approaching me hesitantly, like I'm a wounded animal. "You've had too much to drink to drive home tonight. At least let me give you a ride."
"Why the hell do you care?" Suddenly, I need to lash out. The anger feel healthy and almost cleansing after what I've been through tonight. "It's not like we're friends or anything."
"No," he says with infuriating patience. "I guess we're not. But I'm still not going to let you risk not only your life but someone else's by driving home in this condition."
"Go to hell," I spit out and open my car door with a flourish. I fling my bag into the passenger seat and am sitting down in the driver's seat when suddenly, Danny is there. How did he move so fast? He grabs my arm and, none to gently, yanks me out of the car.
"You're not driving yourself home tonight, Cassie," he says harshly, his earlier patience clearly gone. I actually shiver a little as I look in his eyes. I remember how loving those eyes were on Michelle, but I see that, when pushed, Danny Santos is not a man you want to make angry. "You're drunk and you're upset. You have kids, right?"
I nod, the tears welling up again.
His tone and eyes soften a little and the grip on my arm relaxes. "Well, I would think you want to get home to those kids in one piece. So, please, let me take you home."
There's no point in arguing. He's right. And I think it would be nice to let someone chauffeur me. Suddenly, the idea of making the thirty minute drive back into Springfield exhausts me.
I lean back into the car and grab my bag. Then I let him escort me, one hand still gripping my elbow, to his car.
It's black, naturally, and obviously expensive, but it's not as flashy as I would have thought.
He opens my door for me and I sink gratefully into the soft leather seat. I rest my head against the back of my seat and study him in the faint glow of the interior light as he slides into the car.
Michelle is lucky, I think tiredly. For all his faults and nefarious "connections", Danny Santos is certainly a good looking man.
He turns and looks at me for a second, smiling briefly.
Then he starts the car and says, "Why don't you try to sleep it off until we get to Springfield?"
The thought of resting my cheek on this soft seat and drifting off is very tempting.
But, suddenly, I realize I need to talk to someone.
Danny will do.
"I guess you want to know what I was doing there," I say defensively, sitting up a little.
He shrugs. "I saw what you were doing there. The real question is why. And I really don't want to know that."
I raise my eyebrows. "You don't?"
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road as we pull out onto the highway. "Everyone has a reason for what they do, Cassie. I'm certainly in no position to judge anyone."
I sink back against the seat again, thinking it's kind of nice not to be judged every once in awhile.
"What were you doing there?" I ask quietly.
"Business," is the terse reply.
"I thought you were out of the 'business'," I say, somewhat angry for Michelle's sake.
He turns and fixes me with those deep brown eyes. "I thought you weren't a stripper anymore."
I stare at him in mild shock for a momnet, but then a laugh creeps out of my throat. "Touche."
Silence falls again and I wonder if I should turn on the radio or something. Instead, I ask, "So, did you...um...did you see?"
"See what?" he asks, sounding distracted.
I redden a little. I just look off all my clothes for a bunch of sweaty drunks and I didn't blush, but for some reason, this is more embarrassing. "Me."
He gives be a brief glance then turns his eyes back to the road.
"Just long enough to see it was you. I was in the back for most of the show. Sounded like it was a success, though."
I laugh again and pull the wad of crumpled bills out of the pocket of my coat. "Oh, yeah, a hundred bucks in tips."
"Is that good or bad?" My surprise at the question must show on my face because he gives me a sideways glance and smiles. "Sorry, I'm not up to date on the annual income of strippers these days."
It's really strange how much a smile changes his whole face. It makes him look so much younger...like he's a normal guy and not a mob boss in training.
"It's OK, pretty good for that hole in the wall," I tell him, shoving the money back into my pocket. "Nothing compared to what I used to make in Chicago, but every little bit helps."
"Are you having money trouble?"
I cross my arms and stare out the window. "You could say that."
He sighs and loosens his tie. "Trust me, I know how that goes."
He looks tired and sad all of the sudden.
"Is that why you're back in the mob?" I ask frankly and he gives a startled laugh
"I don't think anyone's ever said it that bluntly before," he says, still smiling a little. "But, yeah, basically."
"Does Michelle know?"
The smile immediately fades and he shakes his head. "No."
His eyes, when he turns to me, are no longer laughing. "And you're not going to tell her either, Cassie."
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Hey, no problem. You keep your mouth shut about why I was out here tonight, and I'll do the same for you."
He nods. "Deal."
"So what kind of mafia related business in ol' Earl back there mixed up in?" I ask, turning toward him in my seat.
Danny shrugs again. "Nothing major. Just a little import/export stuff."
"Drugs?" I ask, thinking of Rob.
Danny shaked his head. "No, I don't deal with that shit."
I smirk a little. "A mafioso with ethics. How nice."
"A mommy with a G-string. How sweet," he counters and I turn away from him, thinking I could cheerfully slap that perfect face.
"Sorry," he says after a moment of silence.
I sigh. "Don't be. It was a low-blow on my part, too."
The "Welcome to Springfield" sign flies by and I realize we're only a few miles from the farm.
"It gets tiring, doesn't it?" Danny asks suddenly.
I turn to him and raise my eyebrows again. "What?"
He keeps his eyes straight ahead as he answers, "Being something you're not all the time."
"I don't know what you mean," I say, suddenly uncomfortable with the way this conversation is going.
"Think about it. We both haven't had the best former professions. But we tried, you know? We tried to be good, upstanding members of Springfield society with our good,upstanding significant others by our sides. And the minute that didn't work out the way we wanted, what did we do? We went right back to the lives we knew before."
I pull my coat tighter around me as we pull into the driveway. "You're wrong. It's...it's not the same. You still have Michelle and you don't have two children to raise. And what I did tonight may have been sleazy, but it did not break the law and there's no chance of gunfire being factored into it."
He stops the car. "Those are just semantics, Cassie." He leans forward. "When you were up on that stage tonight, it was a relief, wasn't it? Oh, sure, you hated that you had to do it and you feel sick to your stomach when you think about it, but for just one second, it felt good to return to what you were before you started trying to please everyone, didn't it?"
I shake my head, even as I remember looking down from the stage and feeling that quick surge of power. After being so helpless these past two years, the feeling of control had been almost intoxicating.
"Don't try to rationalize what you did tonight by comparing it with me," I tell him as I open my door, but there's no anger in the words. I look into his sad, weary eyes and put my hand on his cheek, which obviously surprises him. "But you're not a bad person for what you did tonight, Danny," I tell him. "Just remember you have so much to lose."
"And you don't?"
I smile. "Of course I do. Tammy and R.J. are my life and if they ever found out..." I shudder a little.
He nods understandingly. "I know."
I pull back my hand and gather up my things. "Thanks for the ride."
"No problem."
I go to close the door behind me, but, before I do, I turn around and say, "Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for...well, thanks for not-"
He holds up his hand. "I told you, Cassie, I understand. That's-" his mouth quirks in a wry smile- "that's what friends are for, right?"
I look at him for a moment and then smile a little. "Yeah, I guess so."